


In Other Words

by CassLikesFic



Series: Conversations [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, morons to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassLikesFic/pseuds/CassLikesFic
Summary: Jaskier’s response didn’t surprise Geralt, but it coaxed a rare smile from him.“Mm.” Geralt hummed, taking a half step closer to the startled bard. “That’s settled. But it doesn’t answer my question.”Jaskier looked mildly concussed. He blinked slowly, studying Geralt’s face. The line between his brows was back.“...what...what was the question, again?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Conversations [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631728
Comments: 152
Kudos: 1114





	1. Geralt

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I am so delighted by the response to this story! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and comments. I'm so touched that you took the time to share that you enjoyed this. <3
> 
> (And yes, this fic is rated mature, because things aren't going to stop with a kiss. THE MASSES HAVE SPOKEN.)
> 
> [Come find me on tumblr!](https://poisonousbuttercup.tumblr.com/)

Jaskier’s response didn’t surprise Geralt, but it coaxed a rare smile from him.

“Mm.” Geralt hummed, taking a half step closer to the startled bard. “That’s settled. But it doesn’t answer my question.”

Jaskier looked mildly concussed. He blinked slowly, studying Geralt’s face. The line between his brows was back.

“...what...what was the question, again?”

“Do you.” Geralt helpfully gestured at Jaskier, then, deliberately put a hand on his own chest. “Want me?” 

"...I...well yes, obviously- but- don't you want me to say that I love you back?" The important answer was at the beginning of Jaskier’s reply. Geralt raised his eyebrows in surprise at the  _ obviously  _ part, but let that go. He could get explanations from Jaskier later.

"I know you love me. Just didn't know if you wanted me."

" _ What. _ " Jaskier looked precariously close to flailing again. Geralt hummed quietly, looked around at the well packed camp, Jaskier’s care for Roach. Ran his fingers over a mended tear on the arm of his tunic. Thought of the way the bard always drank and ate food that Geralt brought him without a moment’s hesitation or concern, certain whatever it was would please. The way he would see to all of the small details of comfort when they camped when it was cold, before taking his place in Geralt's arms.  


He’d known the love was there. Desire was something else.

Geralt had assumed that whatever Jaskier had wanted in a bedmate, either he was unable or unwilling to have Geralt provide that for him. And sex was sex. It felt good, but it was no substitute for closeness, for companionship. For trust, and friendship, and love. He was more than happy to see Jaskier in the mornings, bright with pleasure and easy in his own skin. Jaskier always took the time to bathe first, so he only ever smelled of himself, clean skin and soap. 

“I didn’t know what you looked like when you wanted something you couldn’t have.” Geralt added. “Until I used Axii on you. You always looked at me that way.”

“...you thought longing and desire were just...what my face did, when I looked at you?”

Geralt made an irritated sound of assent and rolled his eyes. “You always smell horny. I thought that was just what you always smelled like.”

“...excuse me?” 

“Want and hunger. All the time. From the first time I met you.” Geralt shrugged. “You sweat, and your sweat smells like sex.” 

"I  _ bathe _ , Geralt! Frequently!"

"I didn't say you smelled like old sex, or having sex with other people." Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “You smell like that now.” He added, studying the flush spreading from Jaskier’s throat to his ears. “That’s for me, then.”

“...yes.”

“You want  _ me. _ ”

“Damn it, Geralt,  _ yes _ .”

“You’ve been wanting me since we met.” Geralt added with newfound confidence, smiling slowly. Jaskier’s flush deepened, and now that he was looking for it, Geralt could see the effect his words had. “And you like the sound of my voice.”

“Hm.” 

“We were talking about kissing.” Geralt added mildly, just for the pleasure of watching blood rush to Jaskier’s skin. “You want me to kiss you?”

Jaskier nodded mutely, tipping his chin up in what could be either challenge or invitation.

“Use your words, bard.” Geralt said in a low, pleased rumble, taking another step forward to close the distance between them.

“I want you to kiss me.” 

“Then I will.” Geralt gently took Jaskier’s chin in his hand, brushing his thumb slowly over his bottom lip. “You can have anything you want from me.” He added quietly, before lowering his mouth to Jaskier’s, tasting him softly.


	2. Jaskier

Jaskier never usually had a problem with words, but responding  _ hm _ and then  _ fuck _ to Geralt saying “I love you” was just the start of a troubling new issue.

Because Geralt was smiling. Smiling as though Jaskier had just made a passionate, poetic declaration of love in response to his. A declaration heart-meltingly perfect and pure. As though Jaskier had responded warmly and eloquently in kind, saying everything Geralt had ever wanted to hear.

“Mm.” Geralt hummed with a pleased, bright warmth that found a home in Jaskier’s chest and settled there. “That’s settled. But it doesn’t answer my question.” Geralt was moving closer to him. Closing the distance between their bodies,  _ finally _ , after saying that he  _ loved _ Jaskier. Jaskier thought of a thousand small touches shared, that he hadn’t realized held meaning. The amused half quirk of lips in the morning over breakfast. Geralt pulling him out of warm beds, complaining and pliant and grasping for pillows, as gently as he’d handle a kitten. Geralt was moving towards  _ him _ , with warm intent in his eyes.

Geralt had asked a question that needed answering. Jaskier realized he had no idea what it was.

“...what...what was the question, again?”

“Do you.” Geralt repeated slowly, clearly, and carefully, gesturing to Jaskier, then resting a hand on his own chest. “Want me?”

Oh, what a question to ask.

Jaskier thought again of the parade of sellswords and other company that looked almost but not quite like Geralt. Fisting his hands in long hair and gasping wordlessly, because what he would have said would have been a name. A name that didn’t belong to the person above him, beneath him, behind him. Thought of notebooks full of songs of desire and yearning. Thought of the way that the sound of leather creaking near him instantly made his tongue clumsy and his mouth water.

Thought of having to excuse himself on the evenings when Geralt was chopping firewood, to duck himself in an icy stream just to be able to sit across the fire from him without shifting restlessly.

Thought of the first time he had set eyes on the man in the corner when he was painfully young, with clumsy words and an open heart, and wanted nothing but to be wanted back. Back when being wanted and being loved had meant the same thing.

"...I...well yes, obviously- but- don't you want me to say that I love you back?" Jaskier felt that something other than a heartfelt response of  _ fuck _ was warranted.

"I know you love me. Just didn't know if you wanted me." Once again, Jaskier was off balance and spinning through his own head. Geralt had  _ known.  _ While he fucked other people, craved his touch, thought the man could barely stand him.

Geralt had  _ known,  _ Geralt had  _ seen. _

Geralt loved and wanted him anyway.

" _ What. _ " Jaskier choked out, trying to wrap his mind around  _ that _ particular revelation. It had been a full morning already. He was in danger of giving up trying to comprehend any of it and just accept that this was his life now.

“I didn’t know what you looked like when you wanted something you couldn’t have.” Geralt added. “Until I used Axii on you. You always looked at me that way.”

Jaskier remembered the softness and care of the touch Geralt’s magic had on his mind and heart. Like a persuasive caress.

“...you thought longing and desire were just...what my face did, when I looked at you?” And wasn’t that the truth, after all? Had he ever looked at Geralt without desire? Without trust?

Jaskier almost had his wits gathered enough to tell Geralt so. Properly, this time.

“You always smell horny. I thought that was just what you always smelled like.” 

So much for that.

Geralt rolled his eyes. Jaskier felt a hot spike of....well, it wasn’t  _ shame _ , but embarrassment was mixed in there quite a bit. And pleasure, that Geralt had noticed. A sort of squirmy, shifting, restless pleasure. Exactly what did  _ horny _ smell like? 

“...excuse me?” Jaskier managed around his own heartbeat.

“Want and hunger. All the time. From the first time I met you.” Geralt shrugged. “You sweat, and your sweat smells like sex.” Sudden panic, that Geralt had smelled every single lover Jaskier had ever taken on his skin. That he knew every furtive orgasm, every dirty thought. Knew the thoughts Jaskier had indulged in in the privacy of his own head. Thoughts he’d reviewed thoroughly as he stroked himself off quickly before plunging into cold water and laying down beside Geralt. 

"I  _ bathe _ , Geralt! Frequently!" Jaskier managed to protest.

"I didn't say you smelled like old sex, or having sex with other people." Geralt hummed quietly, and then inhaled. The barely audible sound chased over Jaskier’s skin like a featherlight touch. Jaskier felt exposed, stripped bare. “You smell like that now.”

Gods, of course he did. He was human, after all.

“That’s for me, then.” The only way those words could have felt more intimate would be if they were accompanied by one of Geralt’s strong hands, palming his rapidly hardening prick through his trousers. Possibly that would have felt less intimate. Geralt _knew_ that this desire was his, with no other proof than the smell of Jaskier's sweat.  Wasn’t that a heady thought?

“...yes.” Jaskier breathed, deciding simplicity was for the best.

“You want  _ me. _ ” Infinite possibilities.

“Damn it, Geralt,  _ yes _ .” There was very little blood in any part of Jaskier’s brain that centered around making words fit together properly. He could be forgiven terseness and swearing, surely.

“You’ve been wanting me since we met.” Geralt added with newfound confidence, smiling slowly. Jaskier’s skin buzzed with the smile, the surety in his voice. The heated knowledge in his eyes. “And you like the sound of my voice.”

“Hm.” Inarticulate sounds were his last resort.

If Geralt thought Jaskier smelled horny before, he must smell truly desperate now. Geralt’s voice sounded like a thousand dirty promises.

“We were talking about kissing.” Geralt added mildly. The man’s control was...ridiculous. Jaskier’s face and skin felt hot, tight. He could feel his pulse in his temples and throat. “You want me to kiss you?”

Jaskier nodded mutely, tipping his chin up in helpless invitation. If Geralt didn’t kiss him and kept talking, he might well die. Or come untouched, which would be both a clear testament to his desire and  _ mortifying _ .

“Use your words, bard.” Geralt said, his voice pleased and deep. He had brought himself close enough that Jaskier could feel the words resonating in his chest, low in his gut. It didn’t quite hold the tenor of an order. Geralt was making a small, simple request with no expectation of being denied. 

...Jaskier  _ had _ to figure out how to say  _ something _ out loud. Geralt was asking him to.

_Think around the ache. Wet dry lips with tongue. Speak at least one of his thoughts out loud._

“I want you to kiss me.” Jaskier managed a heated echo of Geralt’s own words. It was good enough. It would have to be.

“Then I will.” Geralt gently took Jaskier’s chin in his hand. 

Thoughts fled.

Words vanished.

There was desire, and then there was  _ need _ .

Beyond desire and need was Geralt’s calloused thumb as it pressed softly on his bottom lip.

Jaskier’s teeth parted in anticipation behind closed lips.

Had he ever had a lover undo him with such a light touch before? He had no idea. He didn’t give a damn.

There was everyone else who’d ever touched him in his life, and then there was  _ Geralt. _

“You can have anything you want from me.” Geralt added quietly, voice full of tender reassurance before his mouth pressed to Jaskier’s. Geralt’s lips fit on Jaskier’s like they had always belonged there. Jaskier parted his mouth to sigh, to say something, and there was the very lightest touch of Geralt’s tongue against his.

Jaskier would refuse to admit, even under torture, that the sound he made in response to such a soft kiss could be called a whine.


	3. Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to take care of yourself, or should I?” Jaskier looked at him like a rabbit startled out of the underbrush, his mouth shutting with an abrupt click of teeth. Geralt carefully removed his hands from Jaskier’s body, holding them up. The last thing he wanted to do was push. He loved Jaskier, and he’d waited this long to touch him. He could wait until the bard came to him. “Rather wait?” He offered softly, trying not to startle Jaskier further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Houston, we have smut.
> 
> Well, a little, anyway.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your comments and kudos!

Jaskier’s lips parted eagerly at the touch of Geralt’s tongue. Geralt savored the whisper soft, needy sound that he earned, pulling back just long enough to study Jaskier’s face. Jaskier chased Geralt’s mouth with his own for a kiss that was more urgent and hungry than Geralt had expected. Geralt gently cupped Jaskier’s face, stroking soothing fingertips down his cheeks. He felt Jaskier’s rough stubble under his fingers as they kissed, coaxing the bard into a softer, steadier pace. He wrapped arms carefully around Jaskier, supporting him when, to his surprise, the other man felt unsteady on his feet.

"All right?" Geralt asked, breaking the kiss. He pressed a hand to the small of Jaskier’s back, waiting for his breathing to slow. He studied Jaskier’s flushed skin and eyes, noting the effect that something so simple had. He resolved that more kissing would need to happen when they were somewhere comfortable and private. Taking care of Jaskier in the middle of the woods wouldn’t do. Jaskier liked warm baths with scented water, comfortable beds with clean sheets, hot, well seasoned food. 

They needed to get to an inn. Somewhere comfortable. He’d need to find something with a decent bounty, first though.

He could do that. Simple enough.

Geralt repeated his question, hoping Jaskier would be able to put enough words together to tell him if the experience had been pleasant.

"...mn. Good." Jaskier patted Geralt’s chest awkwardly, shifting his hips away from the other man. Geralt couldn’t help the amused twitch of his lips. As though he hadn’t scented Jaskier’s excitement or felt the urgency in the kiss. Or the hungry press of Jaskier’s hips against his own. Geralt glanced downward meaningfully, his eyes flicking back to the bard’s face.

"You can't go anywhere like that." Jaskier wet his lips, the dart of his tongue briefly distracting. The flush on his face and neck deepened, looking just as uncomfortable as the insistent outline at the front of his breeches.

"I can try?" Jaskier took several deep breaths, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He avoided Geralt’s eyes. Geralt frowned and gently took Jaskier’s chin in his hand again, lifting his face to meet his eyes. 

"Should take care of that before we go." At that, Jaskier’s mouth fell open again, another dart of tongue, a rough breath, then a quick shake of his head. "Jaskier?"

Geralt thought briefly. He certainly didn’t want Jaskier riding in front of him, uncomfortable and needy. He’d be distracted. Geralt would be distracted as well. They needed at least one clear mind between the two of them. Especially if he was going to slay something that would pay for a visit to the apothecary for what he needed, and a proper bed. Geralt hummed.

“Do you want to take care of yourself, or should I?” Jaskier looked at him like a rabbit startled out of the underbrush, his mouth shutting with an abrupt click of teeth. Geralt carefully removed his hands from Jaskier’s body, holding them up. The last thing he wanted to do was push. He loved Jaskier, and he’d waited this long to touch him. He could wait until the bard came to him. “Rather wait?” He offered softly, trying not to startle Jaskier further.

“No, I want-” Geralt tilted his head encouragingly, holding Jaskier’s eyes. “...you.” Geralt nodded, gently resting his hand on Jaskier’s waist. “Please.” The bard added, somewhat unnecessarily in Geralt’s opinion. _I want you_ was confirmation enough. Geralt moved his thumb back and forth over Jaskier’s ribs, feeling the lean muscle through the expensive fabric.

“Turn around.” Another small sound, caught on a hitch of breath. There were questions Geralt would need answers to, before they went much further. But for now, he could care for his friend. He carefully pulled Jaskier against his chest, hands squeezing his shoulders. “You’re tense. Breathe.”

“Excited, not tense,” Jaskier let out with a shaking breath, then focused on breathing more slowly. Geralt rubbed the palm of his hand in firm circles against Jaskier’s stomach, matching his breathing to Jaskier’s. Geralt pressed his face to Jaskier’s hair, inhaling the hot scent of his need.

“Good.” He murmured against Jaskier’s hair, carefully untying the bard’s breeches and slipping a hand inside. Jaskier made another choked sound, pressing back into his body. “I’ve got you.” He added, tone reassuring as he pulled Jaskier’s length free of the cloth trapping it in place. 

Geralt pulled his hand away long enough to lick his palm, adding slick to calloused skin before closing his hand back around Jaskier’s prick. It didn’t take long, only a few flicks of his wrist and one firm squeeze before Jaskier’s breathing changed. Geralt remembered the care Jaskier took with his own clothing. When Jaskier spilled over his fingers with a hoarse cry, his release only painted Geralt’s hand and the ground. Geralt held Jaskier until he was sure the bard’s legs could hold his own weight, then let him go. He found a clean rag in Roach’s saddlebags, cleaning his hand off thoroughly. His skin would still smell like Jaskier’s pleasure, but he wouldn’t stain the bard’s clothes.

When Roach nickered at him, ears flicking, Geralt rolled his eyes. “Hush. You’ve seen worse,” he said tenderly to the horse. He turned to Jaskier, who attended to his own clothing with a puzzled smile. The bowstring tension was gone from his face and shoulders, leaving something soft and open in its wake.

"Better?"

"Mn." Jaskier took a shaky breath, then nodded his confirmation.

"Good. Let's go." Geralt swung himself up into the saddle, then tugged the bard up, settling him in front. Geralt settled his cloak around both of them, one arm firmly around Jaskier’s waist, the other holding Roach’s reins.

Jaskier’s breathing soon slowed into something steady and even, and Geralt felt warm pleasure as he saw his eyelids droop closed and then snap open. Jaskier was comfortable, sated. Knew that he was wanted, and loved. There was an ease in the bard’s body there hadn’t been when they rode together the day before.

“Sleep if you want.” Geralt pressed a soft kiss to the back of Jaskier’s hair. “I have you.” 

Jaskier sighed quietly, head tipped back against Geralt’s chest, and slept.


	4. Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier’s world had narrowed down to need and want and the deafening sound of his own heartbeat. In his private moments, Jaskier had imagined what Geralt would be like as a bedmate (not lover, never lover, even in the privacy of his own mind.) Jaskier often skirted around details like what Geralt’s mouth would feel like covering his own. Better to imagine hands on hips, rough thrusts, low, feral noises buried against his shoulder. Bruises of fingerprints, lingering for days afterwards, instead of love notes or perfume.
> 
> This languid, melting touch of lips and tongue undid him completely. Even lacking the teeth that Geralt had spoken of so frankly. Gods, if any of them were good enough to hear his prayers, someday he’d get to know what that was like.

Jaskier’s world had narrowed down to _need_ and _want_ and the deafening sound of his own heartbeat. In his private moments, Jaskier had imagined what Geralt would be like as a bedmate (not lover, never _lover_ , even in the privacy of his own mind.) Jaskier often skirted around details like what Geralt’s mouth would feel like covering his own. Better to imagine hands on hips, rough thrusts, low, feral noises buried against his shoulder. Bruises of fingerprints, lingering for days afterwards, instead of love notes or perfume.

This languid, melting touch of lips and tongue undid him completely. Even lacking the teeth that Geralt had spoken of so frankly. _Gods_ , if any of them were good enough to hear his prayers, someday he’d get to know what _that_ was like.

Geralt broke the kiss too soon, far too soon, and Jaskier’s control shattered. It was the first taste of Geralt he was going to get, and he wanted as much of it as he could. He felt greedy, desperate. Years of wanting were not going to be sated with one soft touch of lips, and Jaskier was no blushing virgin. Geralt _loved_ him, Geralt knew he _wanted_ him, and he was warm and willing. It was too much for careful tenderness. With a soft, frustrated sound, Jaskier fisted his hands tightly in Geralt’s shirt and tugged him closer, capturing his mouth again.

He was ravenous, thirsty, drowning. Geralt was food and drink and air.

He couldn’t tell him, but he could show him. The depths of the _want_ that kept his eyes away from Geralt. Locked him away in a tower in his own mind, with guards, and spikes, and a carved sign saying _Do Not Want This_. The desire that had grown up and over those walls anyway, like creeping vines that crept in through cracks and edges. That had bloomed into touches a moment too long, a time too frequently. Looks that lingered, then dropped to Geralt’s mouth, throat, or ear instead of meeting fierce amber eyes.

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s face and returned the kiss with languid control that said _we have time_ and _this will not be the only kiss._ The thought of that, as Geralt’s strong fingers brushed along his jaw, made Jaskier’s knees weak. Geralt’s arms were around his waist, steadying him, supporting him. Geralt pulled away first, and Jaskier was watching his lips-

_Gods, had they really just been pressed to his?_

-form the shape of words.

"All right?" Geralt repeated. Jaskier tried to catch his breath, make sense of those words. Geralt was probably asking if the kiss had been enough, could they move on now. Resume the normal rhythm of their morning and day together.

"...mn. Good." Jaskier hadn’t acted like this much of a fool, not even the first time he’d been touched by someone else. He swallowed down the rising tide in his blood and gave Geralt a lopsided smile, patting the other man’s chest in what he hoped was a friendly gesture. He ached between his legs, vividly aware of his cock pressing against the thin linen fabric of his underclothes and the wool of his breeches. He’d been rutting insistently against Geralt, and he _burned_ at Geralt’s amused, knowing glance.

"You can't go anywhere like that." Geralt said wryly, practically. If that wasn’t enough to make an experienced man blush, Jaskier wasn’t sure what would. Jaskier glanced down, following Geralt’s look to the obvious outline of his cock. Jaskier’s mouth went dry at the word _go_ , and he swallowed reflexively, trying to find the right words.

"I can try?" Jaskier took several deep breaths, then nodded. He could do this. His heart beat like a caged bird against his chest, and he was dizzy with desire. But he could think of bloodlines, put one foot in front of the other. Stare at the road. Jaskier thought forward to the bedroll that night, and the possibilities that lay waiting between spell warmed blankets. “Yeah. I’m fine.” 

He could be patient. He’d waited years. What was another handful of sore-footed hours?

Then Geralt took his chin in his hand again. Firm, but gentle, and so careful. The way he moved through new towns where he wasn’t sure of his reception. Ready to draw steel, but waiting to not be the one who drew first.

"Should take care of that before we go." Jaskier didn’t relish a plunge into icemelt. But it wouldn’t take long. He’d probably spend the second his hand closed around himself, and then wash. Maybe he’d...smell less horny. But what if those words meant Geralt _watching_ him this time? Eyes moving over him, liking what he saw, wanting to _touch_. His breath caught and he shook his head. Just a quick plunge. He wouldn’t be able to keep it off his face, and there was a long ride ahead.

"Jaskier?" Jaskier was certain that there was a playful, light response waiting somewhere, if he could just find the words to make it sound right. “Do you want to take care of yourself, or should I?”

Fuck.

 _Fuck_. 

Jaskier had to grit his teeth to keep the soft moan from escaping, just at the _thought_ of Geralt’s hand around him.

Too little, too late. Geralt’s hands were off him, and he was already putting space between their bodies. Damn his mind, damn his prick, damn both of them working together to rob him of the ability to manage the word “Yes” without sounding like he was getting fucked.

“Rather wait?” Geralt asked, that cool finality in his voice again.

Jaskier suddenly didn’t give a damn if it didn’t sound perfect. He wanted Geralt, and Geralt had said he could have anything.

“No, I want-” He’d gladly take getting fucked into the mud and slush on the ground. But that felt like asking for too much, too soon. “You.” He finished lamely, feeling his skin thrum with relief the second Geralt’s hand was back on his waist. Geralt’s thumb moved in a teasing press along his side. “Please.” Jaskier begged softly. 

“Turn around.” And at that, Jaskier did moan. He had to. 

From famine to feast.

It wouldn’t be...comfortable. Gods, he’d washed in a lukewarm bucket this morning, giving his face and arms a cursory scrub more to do something than actually get clean. The bedrolls were already packed and waiting on Roach’s back. His pack was steps away. What did he have? Salve for his hands, against the cold air, reeking of lanolin, thick and greasy. A small bottle of thin linseed oil, for cleaning his lute. Too expensive to waste on a tryst, and not something he’d want inside himself anyways. The oil for cleaning his hair was too astringent, and the smell too strong.

Of course, if he’d _known_ in the last town that he would get an opportunity to fuck Geralt beside the road on their way into the _next_ town, he’d have had a tin of something appropriate waiting in his pocket. Or a glass vial of something slick and lovely, blended with herbs that would help soothe and ease the way. 

Ah, well.

“You’re tense. Breathe.” Geralt chided softly in his ear, hands resting comfortably on his shoulders. Easy, to melt back into the strong frame behind him. Breathe more slowly, matching his breaths to the unhurried ones beside him. 

Did Witchers even _do_ sex? That thought flitted through his mind, presenting a whole new array of scenarios to worry over. 

“Excited, not tense,” Jaskier corrected automatically, because he was. Although...the thought of being a Witcher’s _first_ was enough to make anyone tense. The thought of explaining _sex_ to _Geralt_ would be laughable if it wasn’t an actual, nearing possibility.

Geralt’s hand moved lower, rubbing his stomach. _Gentling_ him like a skittish horse. Jaskier was glad that Geralt had seen him with enough evening company to know an explanation of sex from _Geralt_ wouldn’t be forthcoming.

Jaskier didn’t think he could survive that.

And then Geralt bent his face to Jaskier’s hair and _scented_ him. Jaskier unshakably believed in that moment that Geralt could smell the thoughts swirling around inside his head.

At least he didn’t laugh at Jaskier’s frantic mental calculations.

“Good.” He murmured against Jaskier’s hair. And then Geralt was slowly unlacing Jaskier’s breeches and his spinning thoughts settled into easy, warm quiet. “I’ve got you.” 

Geralt’s hand was on him then, and Jaskier no longer worried about sounding good, or impressing a lover with the fleeting moments he had to share. Choosing his words just so. This was a man who’d seen him irritable from too much sleep, seasick, footsore, bleeding. A man who had tended to his wounds with wordless care. Geralt _knew_ him, and his touch was safe, and good.

There was the obscene, wet sound of tongue against flesh. Geralt’s hand was back around his cock, slick and rough and perfect.

If Jaskier thought kissing had been an exercise that tested his self control, it was nothing. 

Especially not when Geralt shifted his grip and worked in a rhythm that Jaskier realized was the same frantic pace he stroked himself with when out of sight. And yes, once or twice, rolled away with his back to the Witcher when he’d thought Geralt was sleeping soundly across the fire.

Containing the pleasure at Geralt’s touch was like trying to fill a cup from a raging stream. It crested quickly, wrested control from him and spilled over, leaving him gasping raggedly and shaking in Geralt’s arms. Jaskier couldn’t open his eyes for a long moment afterwards.

When he did, his clothes were still clean, and the world hadn’t ended. Geralt was still there, and when he did let go, it was simply to clean the mess off his palm and fingers without judgement or comment.

When Roach nickered at Geralt, ears flicking, he rolled his eyes in response. “Hush. You’ve seen worse,” he said tenderly to the horse. Geralt even made sure Roach knew that nothing had changed between them. They were still traveling together. Still friends.

Just...also this. As well.

“Better?” Geralt asked him over one shoulder.

“Mn.” Jaskier responded with a nod and a shaky breath, nearly a laugh. It was the same thing Geralt asked after giving Jaskier another blanket, or the last of the food in the pot when he was hungry. Or wrapped him up in his arms on a cold night.

_Yes. This was better._

"Good. Let's go." Jaskier shouldn’t have been surprised to be pulled up onto Roach’s back again, but he was. 

He was tucked in against Geralt, wrapped up warm in a thick cloak that kept the wind from biting him. The rhythm of the horse’s movement and Geralt against his back felt warm. Familiar. Comfortable. The restless night and tension of the day before had gone, and Jaskier couldn’t keep his eyes open between one blink and the next. Somehow he knew Geralt wouldn’t let him fall from the saddle.

“Sleep if you want.” Geralt pressed a soft kiss to the back of Jaskier’s hair. “I have you.”

Jaskier fell asleep easily, knowing that wherever he opened his eyes next, he’d be home.


End file.
